I will miss this Tardis House (it’s bigger on the inside).

First book of the year. Brief thoughts

The path feels a bit overgrown.

Trying to catch some fireflies here—before summer’s gone from sight.

Weeks B, C, and D (sort of).

Week One was for Appleseed, alphabet, America and Amsterdam.

Such a quandary. How public we are. Like frogs.

The use of fables has this potential—to open up the world from a different doorway… to fly in a broken window or burrow up from under the cellar.

One of the more hidden effects of repetition is that it undermines itself. Whatever it is trying to do--by introducing itself more than once it invites a second reading, and by reading I mean interpretation.

… all these forms evolved and became specialized even as the the world turns and human nature still insists on war and sex and care-taking and cycles of trauma.

Naturally, the fabric is being. Naturally being is being undone. Naturally undoing being within the box of language is taboo.

A walk. Gratitude and gullibility. Contentedness. Shame.

I want to go back into the walks I took when there was nothing else to do, so I did nothing. I did it so well.

These amazing authors have enriched my summer months tremendously. You should read them. All of them.

The road is unclear.

Suddenly, in the course of two weeks, I had 10-15 poems working through some of the things surrounding this narrative, but I had no plot… no real push.

Goethe on white: “the simplest, brightest, first, opaque occupation of space.”

Kirsten on Goethe on white: I disagree.